Page 40 of The Wolf and his Witch

“Yeah, it is. The witch who wrote this book was never in line for a humanitarian of the year award. Can’t say I’m shocked it was Cordelia King.”

The chill of the forest settled over his shoulders, and an oily sensation curdled in his stomach. He didn’t like the thought Annabelle had already used this spell a number of times. Nor that Isobella would need to use it soon. He gritted his teeth and read over the words once more. He was doing this. For Annabelle.

Isobella’s gentle, dark gaze settled on him. “When you’re ready, as you say the words, you need to think about where you want to be. Try to picture it in your mind. Whatever you do, don’t get sidetracked.”

Gabriel pictured Annabelle parking her car a block down from Rarity, and held on tight to the image, playing it over and over in his mind.

“You’ll need to say the words out loud. And you need to get them right. No mistakes.”

Merde.Gabriel had never been so glad Alain had insisted he be the one to guard him every time he cast a large or risky spell, watching on as Alain had prepared himself, settling himself into a meditative state. He’d often encouraged Gabriel to prepare with him. Had told him it would hone his skills, help him establish calm inanysituation.

Had Alain known he would need this skill? That it would come to this? It made Gabriel feel a little better, a little more confident he was taking the right course of action if Alain had foreseen this moment.

Centering himself, calming his wolf, he focused on the image of Annabelle and the timing of his jaunt back into the past.

“Blood and bone and hair and skin,

Rend a hole in time so thin.

Thy body held not in place

Instead to thine imagined space.”

As the words rolled off his tongue, tendrils of smoke curled up from the contents of the bowl. Berries wilted, and the herbs curled and blackened, releasing a pungent smell.

He kept reciting.

“Bleed mind and soul to point, to plunder,

To change, to bend, to tear asunder.

So mote it be.”

The smoke grew thicker and the scent stronger, taking on a smell like burning motor oil. Before he could stop it, the image in his mind changed. Instead of seeing Annabelle getting out of her car, about to go into Rarity, he saw her body thrown againstthe door, the windscreen shattering and steam rising from the crumpled engine.

No! Putain.

He tried to get the original image back in place, but it was too late. The forest, Isobella and Stef, had disappeared and a blackness so thick it had substance pulled at him, sucking him into its depths. Pain lanced into him like a thousand knives. He gritted his teeth and let it pull him in. His body protested, a sense of being folded and forced through a sliver of time, and then being forcefully hurled forward until he slammed into something solid. The darkness leeched away, and he was lying on the pavement, his chest heaving and his whole body a throbbing ball of pain.

He groaned.L’enfer.Was that what Annabelle had experienced every time she’d used this spell? How had her fragile human body managed it? How would Isobella cope? He wanted to curl up in a fetal position until the pain subsided, but that would take precious minutes he couldn’t afford to waste. Gabriel forced himself to his feet and leaned against the wall of a building. Where was he? Had anybody witnessed his sudden appearance?

He took in his surroundings. He was in a side alley between two buildings. Car horns blared, and a siren wailed in the distance. He stepped out onto the street, the sun high in the sky. Traffic had stopped and silence hung heavy in the air. Two buildings down, a crumpled wreck crushed by the grill of a truck, blocked the road.

He took off running toward it, mindless of the weakness of his limbs.

No, no, no, no.He was too late.

A white van pulled up to the wreck, doors flew open and Dutton and another man, a man whose scarred face was all too familiar, jumped out, reached into the wreck and dragged out ascreaming Annabelle. He called on his wolf for a burst of speed, but they had her in the van before he could reach them, peeling away from him with a screech of tires.

No.He hadnotcome this far to fail now. He searched his surroundings. Several motorists had stopped to help. One had left his door open, his car running, and Gabriel didn’t hesitate. He slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door and took off after the van, ignoring the owner of the vehicle running after him and waving his fist as he weaved his way through the traffic.

Keeping a close eye on the white van, he followed it as it left the city.

He dug out his phone and dialed a number.

“Stef, it’s me. Listen, I don’t have time to explain. Get Pierre and Louis to track my phone. I think I’m going to need backup. Dutton has Annabelle. He’s not working alone. And it’s not the DGSE. It’s thefuckingFaucherians.”

Chapter Eighteen

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